Close Encounters 13

Kate found herself spread out with an actual map of the world, marking off locations in black sharpie. Those places Black had sent Castle on his various missions. She figured that in every place in which Castle had been severely injured, there had been a lab nearby with regimen at hand.

He'd been shot in Marrakesh. There'd been an incident in Ireland, as well as jumping out of a plane over the English Channel while wounded. Nearly getting his hand cut off... she couldn't remember specifically. Pirates?

There would be more. He had a hundred scars over his body, most of those faded and silver with age, and there were surely times while he'd served in the military and trained for the CIA. Stories she didn't know.

She was guessing, but they were educated guesses. She could rule out the oceans - Black would have needed a lab, a storage facility, and probably a couple of dead drops. He would've needed places he could access in an emergency - places easily gotten to by medivac chopper when Castle's life had been on the line. In Russia, Black had taken Castle to Turkey first and then on to Germany - she had to assume there were sources of regimen at one or both of those places.

Kate found scissors in a kitchen drawer and began cutting up the continents, put the countries that were likely targets near the top of the wooden table. She needed a timeline, something to establish the patterns. And the details of those stories he'd told her, what she could remember regarding when and where, how bad off he'd been, the level of surprise and gratitude she'd felt that he'd made it out alive.

Just as with his knife wound from Coonan, when she'd found his recovery to be exceptionally fast, blowing right past her expectations, those would be the times he'd been given high doses of the regimen. She needed to pinpoint those experiences and figure out what her likely suspects would be.

At the bar last night, Mitchell had told her he was still working on getting her clearance for those old case reports, but she realized now she didn't need clearance. All she had to do was ask.

Castle had never been able to keep secrets from her, and he liked sharing his stories, the things he'd been through and what he'd overcome to reach here and now. He liked to say that all his time on missions brought him to her, that the universe had conspired to bring them together.

Maybe it had.

She needed to go find Castle, and fill in the dots on his worldwide tour.

But when she stood up from the kitchen table and saw the whole thing spread out before her - the cut-up map and the pinpoints in black marker, the details scrawled in a tight hand on scraps of paper - she realized it was messy and obvious and too much. He was sensitive when it came to the regimen; she knew he didn't want to have to take it. It'd be better to clean this up and put it away somewhere, keep it behind closed doors.

She didn't want to remind him of how abnormal he was - not when all he wanted was a normal life with her.

So Kate collected everything together once more, shoved the leftover pieces of map down deep into the trash can, and she headed upstairs to find a place to put it out of sight.

Castle tugged her after him through the winter cold; she'd given him such a sly smirk when she'd put on her coat and Castle had only kept his thin sweater. "Why the sudden interest?" he laughed.

"You tell good stories," she said, a little shrug. Her fingers wriggled in his hand and he glanced over at her as they waited at the light.

They'd had to leave Sasha at home - she wouldn't be allowed inside the Italian restaurant for dinner - and he had to admit he missed the dog at their heel. She'd been so good in the park, obedient even to the leash that she hated, and then following them around all day, napping in the sun on the floor of the office with him or downstairs with Kate in the kitchen. Lunch had been all three of them on the Ugly Couch, slowly working the DVR clean, Kate and the dog both falling asleep on top of him.

Felt strange to be just the two of them now; it felt like he was forgetting something.

She nudged his thigh with their joined hands. "So?"

"Oh, right. Well, the scar at my chin was a training injury when I was six. It bled a lot and I had to get stitches, but it wasn't a big deal. The blade got too close to my face and I was too slow."

She sighed, that heavy sigh again when he brought up his childhood.

"Hey," he said, nudging her back. "It's fine."

"Where were you?" she asked. "I mean, you tell me these stories about your father and what it was like, but I just realized I have no idea where you grew up. Here? DC?"

"All over," he shrugged. "Military boarding school in Kansas for three years, a boarding school upstate, training camps in Kentucky, West Point, one that he only ever told me was an undisclosed location..."

"That's not funny," she muttered. But he was still grinning. He couldn't help it; he'd never thought about comparing notes on their childhoods, the ways they'd grown up.

"What about you?" he said. "Private school?"

"No," she said softly. "Public here in New York."

"Stuyvesant?"

"You have such high expectations for me," she chuckled. She was close to him as they walked towards Little Italy, soaking up his warmth probably. "Okay, I'll give but only if you give first."

"Kindergarten was one year at a boarding school outside of the city," he answered. "Fordham Dyce. Worst name ever, right?"

She murmured the name to herself and shook her head. "I had kindergarten at PS 87 all the way through fifth grade. It was nice. Easy, I guess. I loved my second grade teacher, Mrs Stacks. Her first name was Kate too, and it made me feel special. She'd take me aside during the day and have me help her grade papers."

"Aw, Katie was a teacher's pet?"

"Yeah," she flushed, narrowing her eyes at him. "After Fordham Dyce?"

"Let's see. I had a year of military school-"

"In first grade?"

"Oh, I guess it was more like a year and a half. After Christmas break, kindergarten still, I went to this school in Pine Beach, New Jersey. It was a crash course in my father's expectations."

"What does that mean?" She wound her arm through his and pushed him towards the door of their Italian place. He held it open for her and she proceeded him inside, but he lowered his voice and told her the rest of it.

"What my father was looking for from me. Training drills, no sir and yes sir, marksmanship, running laps for punishment. It's a Naval Academy and the boarding cadets were about fifty to a class - though in kindergarten? There were five of us. It's co-ed, too, which was different from the school Mother sent me to, and I remember having wrestling practice with a girl four times my size."

"Aw, were you a skinny little thing?"

He laughed and shook his head. "No, actually. Not in first grade. I was in kindergarten, but the training... you know. Grew out of it pretty quickly."

The tease fell out of her eyes and she leaned up to cup his cheek, kissed him hard before he had a chance to realize it was coming. "Get us a table, sweetheart."

"Yeah," he nodded. And then he turned around to ask the hostess to seat them.

It'd be different for his son. In fact, Castle wasn't even sure the kid would go to boarding school at all, not if they could manage it. Maybe Jim would step in and act as surrogate when he and Kate were on mission or undercover.

James wouldn't be on the regimen or in military schools, that was for damn sure.

Kate had a wealth of knowledge in her head now, details and facts and ideas running around after their dinner conversation and the walk back to their apartment. They took the longest route, of course - Castle was always too paranoid to let that slide - and by the time Kate got inside the house, she was itching to get it all down.

She needed a whiteboard like a fix.

"This is strange, isn't it?" Castle asked her. He was rubbing down the dog after her yawning greeting from the landing of the stairs. "Having all weekend to ourselves."

"It is strange," Kate admitted. "Nice?"

"That sounded like a question. Are you bored?"

She slid her eyes his way and he had the same look of cautious agreement that she knew was on her own face. She chuckled even as her cheeks heated, came in close to hook her arm around his neck. "Not bored. Just."

"Just," he muttered. "Normal."

"Not in a bad way," she promised. "Dinner was beautiful, Rick. Just talking, connecting like that."

"Yeah. I thought so too. I like... I like hanging out with you. Like normal people."

She stroked the nape of his neck, moved by the soft and vulnerable places within him. She wanted to assure him that they could be normal, that they would get there, that it would happen for him, but the words wouldn't come.

Sasha whined and nosed between them, breaking them apart, so Kate let her husband go and scratched the dog behind the ears. "Fine, fine. Be that way. Wait until there's a baby, you little mongrel."

Castle gave her a crooked grin and tangled his fingers in Sasha's collar. "I'll take her outside. Wear her out a little so she'll curl up with us on the couch."

"Then I'll go change," she said. "Put on pajamas. We're almost finished with the new episodes of your show."

"We could get that done tonight," he grinned. "Boring enough for ya?"

Kate winked at him as she headed up the stairs, heard him taking Sasha towards the kitchen door. Inside their bedroom, Kate shucked her clothes quickly, yanking pajama pants on, slithering into one of his black t-shirts. She padded quickly into the office and searched his desk for paper and a pen, needing to get everything down.

She'd shoved all her notes and the map into the closet of the empty bedroom where Sasha slept. She made her way back towards the spot, tugging open the closet door.

Castle had installed organizational shelving in this closet to hide the safe; it was so well done, the pieces so perfectly fit together, that even now she found it hard to pinpoint which panel hid the secret door. She tapped the wood and still, no sound changes, no difference. She had placed all of her materials in one of the cubbies, and she touched the others one at a time, searching.

She found the safe in the third one from the left, got her thumb hooked into the top corner and tugged. The panel flipped soundlessly and the safe's dial now came into view.

Kate grinned and shook her head, flipped it back. He was a crazy, paranoid bully of a spy, but he was also very, very good.

Super.

She just wanted to keep him that way.

Kate hurriedly jotted down additional notes to the rough timeline she'd begun, now filling in the earlier years - his schooling at the naval boarding academy, the time at West Point. Then there was the place where he'd won marksmanship ribbons and his father had burned them and expunged them from the school's record because they couldn't leave a trace of their existence. Though her heart was heavy listening to Castle's stories, she was also curiously light. Knowing him. That's what had done it. Being given those pieces of his life to carry, to fit together into something better, to see how together they were going to be different for their own children.

She had just made a note to ask him more about West Point when a terrific crash from outside shook the back wall of the closet.

She dropped everything, shoved the door shut, and raced for the stairs.

"Castle?"

The kitchen door slammed open like a gust of wind had caught it; she jumped the last four steps and vaulted herself towards the back door.

"I'm okay!" he suddenly shouted, appearing right in front of her so that she plowed into him. Kate gasped and fought to keep from falling; Castle hauled her upright. "Sorry. I came in to clean it up and-"

"Clean what?" she croaked. Her heart was beating like a cold, slimy thing in her throat. "What was that noise?"

"I - Sasha... we were playing," he explained. His face had fallen, eyes downcast.

She pushed past him and came to a halt at the back patio, saw the wreckage of their little garden strewn across the concrete. They'd brought most of the plants indoors, but a few had stayed out here, and the larger casters and planters had been left waiting like shells for the crabs. Now they were in pieces.

Kate spun around and saw Castle coming back outside with the broom and dust pan. "I didn't mean to-"

"Are you hurt?" she asked, throat constricting. She reached for him, brushed ceramic dust from his shoulders, along the back of his shirt. Her fingers caught a hole where a piece of one of the clay pots had poked through. "Castle, are you bleeding?"

"No. I don't know. It's fine. Sasha and I were wrestling and then I got a call from the Office and I don't think the dog realized and now she's cowering in the basement because she's ashamed-"

"You're bleeding, Castle," she said flatly. Her fingers skimmed down his shirt sleeve where bright spots had bloomed. "Here and here. Did you hit your head?'

"No, I don't know. Kate, will you please just go get the dog? She's down-"

"I heard you. I'm more concerned about you," she muttered, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair. Fine shards of pottery rained down and she sighed at him, skimming his scalp to check. "No broken skin. Did you fall on your elbows?"

"I didn't fall. Sasha plowed into me while I was on my haunches and knocked me back. Kate. I got this here. Can you please get the dog? I have to leave."

"Have to leave?" she asked, bewildered. His eyes were already set, that slate blue, removed from her.

"The Office. The thing with Mason. I need to go take care of it."

"What did he do?"

"He got caught, the idiot," Castle growled. "I need to go in tonight. Just for a little while. Will you please go comfort the dog?"

She stepped back, pressed it down, deeper, harder. "Yes. Okay." Mason had gotten caught. She hoped... "You can get him out of Warsaw, can't you?"

"I'm going to do my best," he sighed.

"Leave this," she said, grabbing the broom from him. "I've got it. You bring Mason home."

"Mitchell's already on a flight out."

"Go, Castle," she insisted.

"Just.. get Sasha. I-"

"I've got it under control," she promised again. "Everything will be fine."

He winced and lifted his elbow, tugged his shirt down. Blood streaked the skin where he'd been cut, but Castle only picked a piece of pottery out of the wound and moved for the door.

Kate followed him inside and headed down for the basement to find the poor dog.

"Sasha," she called into the darkness, flipping on a dim light. "Sasha, puppy. It's not your fault. Come on up."

She found she had to hold onto the railing as she went down the stairs, found she was listening for signs of Castle leaving: the scrape of his keys as he pulled them off the ceramic elephant, the beep of the alarm being unarmed, the front door opening and closing again.

The alarm beeped again, the double beep of the alarm being set, and then Kate was alone.

Normal wasn't very fun.